


Touch

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Confusion, Explicit Sexual Content, Fear, Love, M/M, Sherlock's return, Touch, adjustment, admission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 10:30:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8052865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: Sherlock has returned and things are starting to settle back to normal. But John is stuck with a trigger that soon becomes obvious. Patience had never been Sherlock’s strong suit -- will he step up now to help John or will their relationship be fractured forever?





	1. John's Problem

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. We've got a back catalogue of over 100 stories, so feel free to get lost within them. **We hope you'll subscribe.**
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and liking and being a great community!

John padded down the stairs, yawning widely, pausing midstep when he looked into the sitting room and saw Sherlock hunched over his desk reading the paper. He blinked slowly, and when he opened his eyes again, Sherlock was still sitting there. He was real -- he was back. John was having a hard time getting used to that. "Morning," he said, continuing to make his way down the steps and into the kitchen for the kettle.

"Morning," Sherlock said, flicking closed the paper. "Why does your face look like that?" He picked up his mug and waved to indicate it needed filled.

"Like what?" John asked, bringing the kettle out to fill Sherlock's mug before going back to the kitchen to fill his own.

"Like it's confused," Sherlock said.. "Like this is the first time you've ever walked down those stairs. It's not, John -- I've seen you do it before." He nodded to thank him for the tea and took a sip.

John rolled his eyes and ignored the comment. "I'm making breakfast. Want anything?"

"No," Sherlock said. He glanced over to see what was John making. "I can just have some of yours."

John felt his stomach tighten, but then his heart swelled and the two at the same time made for an odd feeling. "Okay," he said, taking out an extra egg and piece of toast.

"What are you plans for the day?" Sherlock asked.

"Nothing so far, I'm not working." 

Sherlock sighed a little and then coughed to cover it up. "Yes, well, I'm not either," he said. "But I'd like to be."

"Call Lestrade," John said, putting the eggs into his plate next to the buttered toast. He took out the jam before sitting at the table with his tea. 

Sherlock got up and joined John. "And will you be assisting me?" he asked, as he reached over to grab a piece of toast from John's plate.

"Why wouldn't --?" John's words cut suddenly as Sherlock reached over for some food, brushing John's hand. John's breath stopped short as he flinched his hand away. "Forgot to get you a plate," he mumbled, getting up from the table quickly. He took a deep breath, took a moment to compose himself, before taking a plate down and coming back to the table to split the food. 

"Hey--" Sherlock started to say when John abruptly jerked away. He watched him move and then set down a plate. "I wasn't going to eat much . . ." he mumbled as he took a forkful of food.

"Still . . . it's easier," John said, pulling his own plate closer. He gave Sherlock a piece of toast and went back to eating, hoping he hadn't noticed anything odd. 

"Right," Sherlock mumbled. "Anyway, will you still be helping me if I do get a case to work on?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?" John asked.

"I don't know. . . I just wanted to make certain," Sherlock said. "Fine, I'll call him after we finish eating." He took a sip of tea. "So if you're not working today, what will you be doing?"

"I don't know," John admitted. "I'll see."

"You'll just start off with the moping and go from there?" Sherlock said, slightly under his breath.

John shot him a glare and ate his breakfast with jerkier movements. "I think I'll go for a walk or something."

"John, please --" Sherlock started. He swallowed roughly. "Yes, let's go for a walk then. I'll call Lestrade when we get back."

John glanced up and sighed, leaning back in his seat. "I'm not moping. I'm just . . . I'm getting used to this again. You can't blame me." He spoke quietly. 

"But we've already talked about things, I said I was sorry, you said you understood," Sherlock said. "I just want it to be like --" he interrupted himself, looking down at his plate. "I just want it to be good between us."

"I know, Sherlock. I do understand but it won't happen overnight," John said, rubbing his face. "You can come walk with me, I don't mind."

Sherlock looked up, wanting to say more. Instead, he said, "I think a walk's a good idea."

"As soon as I finish breakfast, okay?" 

Sherlock finished the food on his plate and then the cup of tea. "I should brush my teeth," he said, leaning over to get John's plate which he carried to the sink. He washed everything and then disappeared into the bathroom.

John watched Sherlock leave the room, sighing softly again as he clenched his hand. He looked down at his hand and thought of how close Sherlock's fingers had been. He closed his eyes and remembered the last time he'd touched Sherlock, properly touched him. It was when he checked for his pulse on the street. John's chest tightened and he opened his eyes quickly, shaking his head to clear the image. That was in the past now. He got up and went to his room to change his clothes and get ready.

Sherlock looked at himself in the mirror. He looked older. So did John. He didn't want either of them to have changed as they did. He should have known they would, but he had wanted them both to stay the same. He still wanted that now even though he knew it was impossible. He rinsed his mouth and headed out to get his coat. "Ready?" he asked John who was putting on his shoes.

John nodded. "Yeah, I'm all set."

"Well come on," Sherlock said, adjusting his coat and slipping the scarf around his neck. He grabbed John's coat from the peg, holding it up to help him on with it.

John stood straight and held his arm out before he realised what Sherlock was offering. He changed his reach and took the coat from Sherlock instead, putting it on himself. "Thanks," he said.

"Right," Sherlock said, looking confused for a moment before turning to head down the stairs. When they got to the pavement, he turned and said, "Where are we headed?"

"I just thought I'd weave through the neighbourhood," he said. "Is there somewhere you'd like to go?"

"No, not really," Sherlock said. He glanced over at John and then looked down at the pavement. John seemed off a bit today. Or maybe it wasn't just today. Maybe this was just how he was now. Sherlock looked up and around as they continued to walk. Despite the changes between them, he was still so glad to be home.

John looked around as they walked, glancing at Sherlock once in a while. He'd walked this path so many times alone, the same streets, just for something to do to get out of the flat. But everything had reminded him of Sherlock then. He looked over at him again now, hardly able to believe this was really happening.

Sherlock pulled his collar tight. The cold had felt bracing at first but then it started to seep into his bones. He saw the coffee shop up ahead and grabbed at John's arm. "Let's get something hot to drink," he said.

John gasped softly and tugged his arm away from Sherlock's, stumbling a bit into the street. A car honked loudly and swerved, shouting curses before John hurried onto the pavement again. He stood there to catch his breath for a moment, embarrassed and frazzled, desperate not to look at Sherlock. 

Sherlock stood still watching John's stumble like it was happening in slow motion. Then he jumped forward to grab John, who pulled away his arm again. "Jesus, John," he said. "What's wrong with you?" He stood there watching and waiting for an answer.

"Nothing, I . . . I thought I was falling and I over-corrected and it's fine," John rambled. He shook his arms and stuffed his hands on his pockets. "You said something warm? That sounds fine." He wouldn't look at Sherlock. 

Sherlock stood for a few minutes, waiting for John to look up. When he realised that wasn't going to happen, he turned and went into the coffee shop. Something was happening -- Sherlock didn't know what it was and he sensed John wasn't going to tell him. That was fine. Sherlock would figure it out on his own.

John followed Sherlock inside and went to the counter, paying for both of them before Sherlock could, in attempt to make up for his odd behaviour. He knew he had over reacted, but Sherlock's couldn't know why. He didn't need to know something like that -- especially since they had talked through everything and put it behind them. 

Sherlock sat down with his tea. "Enjoying the walk?" he asked, holding the mug up to his face to warm it and slightly disguise the fact he was studying John's face.

John nodded. "Yeah, it's nice," he said. He kept his eyes on his tea, swirling the contents before taking a drink. "You?"

"Very nice," Sherlock said. "It's colder than I was expecting." He took a sip. He didn't like conversations like this with John -- meaningless, awkward ones. They needed to be able to talk like they used to. They needed a case. "Do you want to head home after this?"

"Yeah, that's fine," John said. He looked around the shop. "I've never been in here."

"I have," Sherlock said. "Before I met you, I'd sometimes come here to think." He finished up his tea. "Now I like thinking around you."

John looked up at him and nodded, smiling lightly. "That's a nice thing to say," he said.

"Is it?" Sherlock asked. "Well, I meant it to be honest, but I'm glad it was also nice." He reached for his coat. "Shall we go?"

John nodded. He finished his tea and stood, zipping up his coat. He moved to the door and pushed it open, holding it for Sherlock.

Sherlock walked through. The cold air stung his face again and he pulled his scarf tighter. "You should make a fire when we get home," he said as they began to walk.

"Okay," John said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I'll bring my computer down to the sitting room."

"What are you going to do on your computer?" Sherlock asked.

"Start up the blog again, I think."

"Really?" Sherlock said, glancing over. He smiled a little. "Well, hopefully we'll get a case and then it'll be back to norm--" He stopped himself before he finished the word.

"Maybe," John said. "We'll have better luck from Greg."

"Maybe," Sherlock said.

They walked back to the flat, and Sherlock let them in. "I don't even know if I want more tea," he said, putting the kettle on. "But I need something warm."

"Make some cocoa," he said as he started tending the fire

"I don't like chocolate," Sherlock said, pouring a cup of tea. He came over and pulled his chair closer to the fire.

John went to get his computer and pulled his chair close to the fire. He logged onto the blog and looked at the blank box, leaning back with a sigh. How did he even start? He looked at Sherlock. "Warm?"

"Better," Sherlock said. He looked over at John and smiled a little. "I might have a bath though at some point. That always helps."

"Okay," Johne said, looking back at the computer. The cursor blinked. Slowly, he started typing about the day he saw Sherlock for the first time after the fall. His hand trembled lightly, and he put it down again. He closed the laptop and settled back to watch the fire.

Sherlock had closed his eyes to listen to the sound of John's typing. Then he opened his eyes when John closed his laptop. "What were you writing about?" he asked.

John shook his head. "Nothing. We need a case," he said, smiling at him.

Sherlock wasn't sure why John was smiling. It seemed . . . unusual. "I'll text Lestrade before my bath," he said, standing up. "I'm sure we'll have something by the time I get out." He pulled out his phone and sent a message before taking his mug to the sink.

John nodded. "Enjoy your bath," he said. "I'll make lunch in a little while."

"No, don't," Sherlock said. "I mean . . . eat something if you want but why don't we go out for dinner later? Unless we have a case, I mean."

"Out?" John asked. "Okay, yeah. Even if there's a case, we can do that."

"If you want," Sherlock said. "Think about it." He disappeared into the bathroom. He turned on the bath and then slipped out of his clothes. Leaning back in the hot water, he had a think about John's behaviour this morning. It was definitely not normal. It seemed almost like John was afraid of Sherlock. Why?

He closed his eyes and thought about everything that had happened since he'd come home. He'd known that John would be hurt, but he'd spent most of his time away trying to convince himself it wouldn't be too bad. Or maybe he just hadn't wanted to think about it. But as soon as he got back, he saw how hurt John had been. It was horrible. It'd made Sherlock's whole body and mind ache with guilt and sorrow. John needed to talk and Sherlock knew it'd have to be done. Those conversations were difficult and he'd hated every single moment of all of them, but he knew John needed to be able to talk.

They talked until John had said everything he needed to say. It seemed like things were all right -- not the same as before but all right. Or so Sherlock had thought. But now it seemed like John was afraid of Sherlock and that was not all right.

John gazed into the fire. He needed to get his thoughts together. If he carried on like this, Sherlock would notice something and start asking questions. They had been doing well enough, he didn't know why Sherlock suddenly seemed to be physically closer all the time. Or had he always been? It all felt too much now.


	2. Sherlock Notices

When Sherlock got out of the bath, he felt no clearer about what to do about John, but he did at least feel warmed up. He moved over to his desk to check his email. There was a short note from Lestrade, not a case really, but he had a few questions about something they'd worked on long ago. Sherlock called John over to the desk to take a look.

"Could you read it to me?" John asked, offering a silly smile when Sherlock looked over annoyed. He hoped that was enough to disguise the real reason from Sherlock. Standing over him at the desk would invite the possibility of touching, and there had been too much of that already today. He tried to remember touching Sherlock before he'd left -- surely they had brushed arms when walking or crossing paths in the flat? He couldn't think of any. But now he felt he had to do what he could to avoid it.

Sherlock tried to read behind John's silly face. "Um yes, fine," he said and read out Lestrade's request. "The answer's not on the blog obviously, but I imagine that one of us must have it in our notes. Fancy checking yours while I check mine?"

John nodded. He got up and dug out an earlier notepad, flipping through to find the case that Sherlock was asking about. He read over his notes. "Most of my notes end up in the blog," he said, looking through them. He started reading out what he had relating to Greg's question. 

Sherlock took a little longer to find his, but hearing John's notes while skimming through what he'd written down led him to the information Lestrade wanted. He typed a quick reply, signed both their names and sent it through. "Well, we just solved our first case -- since I got back, I mean," he said, looking up and then quickly looking back down. "You know what I mean."

"Well, I won't write this one up, I think -- it doesn't quite end with our usual exciting resolutions," John said. He smiled softly. "I'm sure Greg will have something proper for us soon."

Sherlock felt better, easier. He looked over. "Well, I'm bored now," he said, smiling. He stood up, stretched and moved to look out the window. "When are we leaving for dinner?" 

"Couple hours?" John offered.

"Fine," Sherlock said. He flopped onto the sofa. "If I fall asleep, wake me, yeah?" He turned onto his side.

"Okay," John told him. He opened the computer again and started typing, trying not to over think what he was writing about. He wrote about random things he'd done in the past few days, wrote about the coffee shop they'd visited. It was meaningless. 

Sherlock listened to the soft click of John's keyboard. It was a nice sound. The last hour had felt normal. They'd worked together like they had before, John had agreed to go out to dinner like they had before. Maybe things were all right. And yet . . . John wouldn't even come over to the desk and stand next to Sherlock. Just like with his coat and the incident in the street . . . clearly John feared something. If it wasn't Sherlock himself, what was it?

John kept typing and deleting and restarting, just like before. He couldn't help over thinking it. When he noticed the time he closed the computer and stood up, stretching his body. "Ready, Sherlock?"

Sherlock heard John but he didn't move. He was going to force John's hand and make him come over to the sofa to wake up.

"Sherlock?" John said a bit louder. He moved over to the sofa and leaned over to look at his face. He put his hand out, hovering over Sherlock's arm to shake it. And it still hovered. He glanced at  
Sherlock's face, his closed eyes and soft breathing, and John's hand clenched and pulled back.  
"Sherlock!" he half shouted.

"God, John," Sherlock said, sitting up. "What is wrong with you? Why are you shouting?"

John took a step back, flushing lightly as he moved his hand to his side. "You wouldn't wake up -- you said to wake you up." He was trying to sound normal, but wasn't convinced he was succeeding.

Sherlock looked over at John. My god, he thought, John Watson looked scared. "Right, thanks," he mumbled. He stretched a little. "I need the toilet," he announced. "You still want to go to dinner?"

John nodded. "That's why I woke you," he said. "Do you know where you want to go?"

"Wherever you want," Sherlock said. "You'll be doing most of the eating," he added with a smile.

John smiled back. "Maybe Angelo's? It's been a little while," he said.

"All right, that's good," Sherlock said, getting up and heading to the bathroom.

John put his shoes on and grabbed his coat while he waited for Sherlock.

Sherlock came out and noticed John by the door so he grabbed his coat as well. He put on his scarf and moved to the door.

"Feel okay after your nap?" John asked as they walked out.

"I do. Do you?" Sherlock said. "I mean, what did you do while I was napping?"

"I tried writing again," John said.

"What do you mean, tried?" Sherlock asked.

"I've got writer's block or something. I'm not worried," John said. "When Ella first made me start it, I couldn't get anything out either. Then you happened and it just came easily. Something will happen, and I will be on track again."

Sherlock smiled. He found he quite liked the phrase "you happened," though he wasn't really sure why. "Well, maybe when we've got a proper case . . ." he said.

John nodded. "I'm not worried about it."

"Good," Sherlock said, glancing over. "Is there anything you are worried about?"

John looked over at him, still smiling lightly but a bit confused. "No," he said. "I don't think so."

"Good," Sherlock said. He held the door open for John and they headed into Angelo's, sitting at their usual table. Angelo came over to greet them and, for some reason, Sherlock fancied a glass of wine. "Do you mind?" he asked John. "Should we get a bottle?"

"I don't mind," John said. 

"A bottle," Sherlock said, looking up at Angelo, who smiled at them both. Once he'd left, Sherlock leaned in a little. "I don't like the look of those two over there," he said as he glanced to a table where two men sat.

John waited a second so he could glance over naturally. He looked back at Sherlock. "Looks like a date," he said.

"Interesting," Sherlock said. "Well . . . I like them a little better then, I guess. But they're not right for each other. It's obvious."

"How so?" John asked.

"Well, the tall one can't be trusted," Sherlock said. "I'm not saying he's a criminal -- though it'd be interesting if he were -- but he'll lie to the shorter one eventually and the short one will believe him. It's a disaster waiting to happen." He had no sense of the irony about his comment.

Angelo approached the table with the bottle of glass. Sherlock let him pour and then took a big sip, nodding in approval.

"Unusual analysis," John smiled. "And not very insightful. Everyone lies. It's about what that really matters," he said. He took a long sip and looked out of the window. A cab was parked across the street and he smiled, remembering their run through the city. "Welcome to London," he murmured. 

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock asked. "London's not new to me -- I was just gone for a bit. Don't make it seem like I'm a stranger." 

John looked back at Sherlock. "No, I was just remembering our first case," he said, motioning to the cab outside. 

"Of course," Sherlock said, remembering as well. He sat back a little and smiled, swirling the wine in his glass. "I've thought of that night so often -- probably every single day I was gone." He took a sip. "Yes," he said quietly. "It was a good night."

John looked over at him closely. "It was fun," he said. "I could walk properly again, you were making jokes." He grinned. "We laughed a lot actually. I liked that part."

"I don't remember making jokes," Sherlock said. "I've never made a joke in my life." He smiled. "I do remember the laughter, though." He smiled fondly. "I missed you," he added and then looked away quickly taking another sip of wine.

John opened and closed his mouth, still smiling but feeling a bit awkward now. "I missed you, too," he said. "I know things aren't quite like that day, but I am glad that you're back."

"I am too, John, I am too," Sherlock said. "I had no idea just how reliant on you I'd become."

John looked down and took a long sip. "And yet I wasn't allowed to know," he mumbled.

Sherlock sighed. "You know why . . . wait, what? Are you talking about not knowing the truth about what had happened or about not knowing . . . how I felt?"

John drained his glass and shook his head. "Nothing, it's fine," he said. "Let's not talk about that day, okay?"

Sherlock looked at John's face and then said, "Okay . . . sorry." He topped up both of their glasses as Angelo set their plates down.

John pulled his plate close and started eating. "Did you plan the leg thing, that day? The first case day," he clarified.

"Of course not," Sherlock said. "You . . . well, I had no idea what to expect with you," he added with a wink.

John's cheeks warmed. "Oh please. You had me figured out the second you met me."

"I thought I had," Sherlock said. "But oh how wrong I was . . ." He realised the wine was affecting him a little, but he went ahead and took another sip. He lifted his fork and ate a little.

"You're never wrong," John smiled.

Sherlock shook his head. "I am," he said. "Not very often, but sometimes. . . but you . . . " his voice trailed off because he wasn't sure what he was trying to say. He ate a few more bites.

John kept watching him. "I what?" He asked, his eyes moving over Sherlock as he bent over his plate. 

"You're good," Sherlock said. He lifted his glass to cover his face.

John didn't know what that had to do with Sherlock being able to read him, but he didn't ask. "Well, you're good too," he said. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I am not," he said, pushing his plate away and finishing his wine. "What I am is a little bit drunk."

"Well you're cut off then, I don't want to carry you home," he said.

"You've been drinking as well," Sherlock said, smiling. "You couldn't pass a sobriety test and you know it."

"I can hold it better than you," John grinned.

"I'm not sure about that," Sherlock said. "I've been drunk during every dinner we've ever had together and you had no idea." He laughed a little.

John grinned. "You liar, we don't even drink at every dinner we have!"

"Whatever," Sherlock said. "Are you getting dessert or are you done eating until your snack in two hours?"

John flicked a crumb at him. "I'm done."

"Drunk," Sherlock diagnosed. He stood up and put his coat on, waving goodbye to Angelo who smiled back at both of them.

John stood and put his coat on, following Sherlock outside. "Am not."

Sherlock pulled his scarf tight. He looked over. "Don't go falling into the street again," he said. "Do I need to help keep you steady?" He reached out to grab John's arm.

John stopped walking so he wasn't next to Sherlock when his arm reached out. "I'm steady, I'm fine," he said quickly. He moved forward when Sherlock's arm lowered again. He stuffed his clenching hands into his pockets.

Obviously Sherlock noticed John's avoidance. Why? Why was he doing this? They'd have a nice evening -- it was fun, they'd laughed, just like John said he liked. Why didn't John want Sherlock to touch him? He kept his eyes forward as he walked, picking up his pace a little since it was so cold out. "It's fucking freezing," Sherlock said as he unlocked the door, and then laughed a little because suddenly the phrase seemed incredibly hilarious to him.

"Bit vulgar," John said as he followed, locking the door behind him. He was smiling again.

"It's my nature really," Sherlock said, taking his coat and scarf off. "I only started censoring myself when you moved in."

"Well, don't hold back on my account," John said. He hung his jacket and, because he knew Sherlock would ask, went straight into the kitchen to start the kettle.

"All right, I won't from now on," Sherlock said. "You fucker." He laughed at himself again as he flopped onto the sofa.

John rolled his eyes even as a chuckle escaped. He open the cupboard and pulled out Sherlock's mug.

Sherlock turned on the television and flicked through the channel. "Hurry up," he called.

"I'm coming," John said, moving in quickly, trying not to spill anything.

Sherlock took a sip of the tea even though it was too hot. He looked over at John and then the television and then John again. "You can't see the telly from there," he said.

John, very quickly, glanced at the sofa before shrugging. "I can see okay," he said.

"Come on, John, unless you're too drunk to maneuver your way over," Sherlock said. "Or do you need me to carry your over. Is that it?" he added, watching John's face carefully.

"No," John said. He kept sitting in his seat for a moment before getting up and making his way over. He sat at the far end with his hands in his lap.

Because Sherlock did not like being confused about what was happening, he decided to be a little bolder. Or maybe it was just the wine talking. "You comfortable?" he asked. "You can move closer if you want."

John glanced in Sherlock's direction without moving his head. "I'm comfortable," he said softly.

"There's no need for you to be so far away," Sherlock said. He moved a little, not shifting closer, but kind of spreading himself out so ultimately he was closer. John shifted against the arm rest.

Sherlock stared forward at the television as he kicked off his shoes, turned and lifted his legs on to the sofa, stretching out so they were close -- but not touching -- John's legs. "Do you mind?" he asked, still looking at the television.

"I'll go back to my chair, I don't mind," John said, shifting to get up.

"Don't," Sherlock said sharply. "I'll move." He put his legs down and sat up properly.

John flushed lightly at Sherlock's tone, sitting back again and fiddling with his hands. He almost said something, sentences kept starting and dropping away. He sat quietly.

Sherlock didn't move any closer again. Whatever John's problem was, a nice day and dinner hadn't made it go away. He didn't like it -- not just because he didn't understand it, but also because it hurt Sherlock's feelings. He knew he had no right to be hurt, but he still was.

Once the show ended, Sherlock stood up. "I think I'm off to bed," he said. "It was a good day . . . thanks," he added as he moved to his room, but he couldn't bring himself to look right at John. 

John sat on the sofa for a little while, taking a deep breath as the telly continued on in the background. For a moment he considered telling Sherlock what was going on, but he immediately dispelled that idea. What if Sherlock hadn't noticed anything and it got awkward when John brought it up? It was awkward now but only on his part. He could deal with it. He would sort himself out and things would be fine. He got up and went to bed, getting ready slowly and lying on his back for a while before he finally shifted and fell asleep.


	3. A Proper Good Day

Sherlock woke up a number of times in the night, each time feeling confused about where he was or what was going on. He finally gave in around seven and dragged himself out of bed and into the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

John woke later than usual, his head feeling like he'd had awful dreams even though he couldn't actually remember them. He heard Sherlock moving around downstairs and hoped the weirdness from the night before was gone. He freshened up and made his way downstairs. "Morning."

"Morning," Sherlock said. "I didn't sleep well so I am just warning you right now, I'm not in my usual charming, happy-go-lucky mood." He took his tea over to his desk, but didn't bother opening his laptop.

"Gee, I wonder what that's like," John teased, getting out some bread for toast.

"No sarcasm, please -- it's unattractive," Sherlock said, staring towards the window. "What are your plans for the day anyway?"

"I don't know. I might see if work needs me," he said. 

Sherlock turned his head but quickly turned it back. "Yeah, that's an idea," he said. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about that or if what he thought about it should matter anyway, so he didn't say anything else.

"Anything from Lestrade?" John asked, moving to get his mug for tea.

"What?" Sherlock said. "Oh, I don't know. I haven't checked yet. I will in a moment . . . I'm just waiting until I feel a little more normal."

"Oh," John said. He had been under the impression that Sherlock was eager to get back to cases. "All right. Well, I'll go in for a bit and I'll keep my phone close just in case."

"All right," Sherlock said. He opened his computer but he didn't check his email. Instead, he moved into the kitchen and made himself a piece of toast. Could it be he had a bit of a hangover? After this, he'd take a shower and he was sure he'd feel more like himself.

John finished his breakfast and hesitated for a moment before going back upstairs to get dressed. He didn't know what he had expected Sherlock to say but maybe being apart for a little while would do them both some good. The irony of the words hit him hard, seeing as Sherlock had only just come back into John's life. But all of the sudden proximity . . . John couldn't handle it just yet. When he came down again he looked over at Sherlock for a moment before saying that he was leaving. It was nice enough this morning to walk, still cold but the sun was out and the brisk air seemed to clear his head a bit. 

The shower did help Sherlock. His headache had eased, and his eyes felt like they could handle the brightness of the day. He checked his email, but there was nothing except a quick note from Lestrade explaining he'd get in touch as soon as he had something. Fair enough. Sherlock did want a case, but mainly just so he and John could be normal again.

He lay down on the sofa and closed his eyes. Why was he so focused on John's issue about being physically close? Was it just because it was different? It seemed like they used to touch a lot. That's how Sherlock remembered it. Or was it just how he wanted to remember it? He'd spent a lot of nights while he was away, remembering their closeness -- the emotional intimacy, which was something Sherlock had never had with anyone else, but also the physical intimacy. The touches. Sherlock used the memory of those things to help him get through his time away. Why was John denying him them now?

It wasn't fair. Sherlock would just have to keep trying until things seemed normal again.

When John got to the office it was full, but not busy. He went to Sarah's office and knocked, smiling lightly when she looked. "You're not supposed to here today, are you?" she asked. 

John shook his head. "No, I just thought I'd stop in and see if you needed help." 

She smiled. "No, not today. Everything all right at home?" 

John looked around her office and nodded. "Yeah. Just . . . different, you know?"

"Yes, well, it would be, with him back from the dead and all."

John's eyes snapped onto her. She looked amused, clearly unaware of the effect of those words on John. He swallowed hard. "Yeah," he said. The gruesome memory of feeling for Sherlock's pulse and not finding one played in his head again.

Sarah's voice brought him back into the room. "Go back home," she said. "Spend the day with him like before."

"There's no cases . . . I'm not sure he really wants one yet," he said. 

Her brows furrowed. "Sherlock Holmes doesn't want a case? So what is he doing then? Just sitting at home with you?"

She was joking again, but the words hit John hard again. "Maybe we can go to a museum or something. Something to get out of the flat for a bit and ease into old times."

"There you go. Try the Tate. They've got a body-based exhibit, supposed to be good," she smiled. 

"Right, I'll suggest it. Thanks," he said before leaving

_Fancy going to the museum? -JW_

Sherlock rolled off the sofa and retrieved his phone. Hmmm . . . this was an interesting invitation.

_All right. Should we meet there? SH_

_Okay. The Tate? -JW_

_Right. I'll be able to leave in 10 mins. See you there. SH_

Sherlock dropped his phone and got ready. As he headed downstairs, he saw Mrs Hudson coming in so he helped her with her bags.

She smiled fondly at him, so glad that he was back. "Everything going okay?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" he asked, setting her bags on the table.

"I mean, have you adjusted to being back?"

"Yes," he said. "I think so."

"And John . . . has he adjusted to your being back?"

"Yes. . . I think so."

"It'll take time," she said softly. "Anyway, where are you off to?"

"John and I are meeting at the museum."

"Well, that sounds nice," she said. He nodded and then he was on his way.

John put his phone into his pocket and changed his course for the museum instead. This was good. A casual day out, the weirdness put behind them, that's all they needed. When John arrived, he bought tickets and waited outside. 

Sherlock saw John at the door and waved towards him, even though he felt a bit stupid having done that. "Thanks," he said as they walked in. "What brought this on?"

"They didn't need me at work, and we were both going to be bored at home anyway," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "There's supposed to be an interesting exhibit."

"All right," Sherlock said. They started walking through the special exhibition first. Each room has a bit of a crowd, but most conversations were quiet mumbles. 

John studied the paintings with interest. He'd never seen art like this -- there were the usual paintings, of course, but there were odd things as well. A skeleton made out of different pieces of metal, a skull carved out of dark wood, and two skulls set up like lovers about to kiss, both made out of something that looked very much like real bone. 

Sherlock watched John. He leaned in a little and whispered, "They look close." He gave John a sly smile.

John gasped and stepped back, a good arm's length away. He flushed and looked around the room, and then back at the two skulls. "I . . . yes. Seems like a love thing -- they're going to kiss," he rambled a bit. He wouldn't look at Sherlock. 

"Obviously. I suppose when two people belong together, they stay together forever," Sherlock said. "Even when their heads are cut off." He smiled. 

"They're not real," John said stupidly. He swallowed hard and nodded. "But I suppose you're right," he added. 

"Of course I am," Sherlock said. He turned and moved towards the next room.

John took a deep breath and followed him, looking around at the ordinary art now. 

Sherlock looked up and down the room. "I like these portraits," he told John. "You can tell every single man in them must have been a total bastard, and I kind of like imagining their stories."

John raised his brows and pressed Sherlock for more. They walked along the room as Sherlock made up ridiculous stories about the men in the paintings. John was smiling, laughing out loud at some parts, marvelling that he was the one that got to see this side of Sherlock despite other people in his life having known him for a lot longer. A small part of him was happy at the fact that, even though he wasn't trusted with the big secret of Sherlock leaving like Molly was. But at least he got to have this side of Sherlock all to himself. 

After a while, Sherlock said, "More or have you had your fill?

"I'm hungry, actually. Can we get something to eat?" John asked. 

"All right," Sherlock said. "Let's try somewhere new."

"Okay," John agreed, following him out of the museum. "Where?"

"I passed this little place on the way," Sherlock said. "I have no idea what it's like or even what type of food they make, but the door was purple and I liked the look of it."

"I'm sure whatever it is will be fine," John said. "Well, maybe. We'll see when we get there."

Sherlock reached out to pull John's arm but dropped his hand quickly when he saw John lean back. He acted like he hadn't noticed. "Come on then," he said. They stepped out of the museum -- the sun was bright, but the air was still so cold. They walked a few minutes up the road, and Sherlock opened the door of the restaurant for John. 

John went inside and looked around. It was small and cozy. He took a table near the window in the back, putting his coat on the back of his chair. 

Sherlock sat down and glanced at the menu. "It's Turkish," he said. "Is that a problem?"

John shook his head. "Can you recommend something?" he asked. 

"I can," Sherlock said. "I know you quite well -- do you trust me to order for you?"

John nodded. "Of course I do," he said.

Sherlock smiled. When the server came over, Sherlock ordered for the both of them, allowing John to choose the meat, but otherwise he didn't explain much. "You can be surprised," he said. "But I look forward to hearing you tell me how perfect my choice for you was." He also ordered them both some jasmine tea, which the server brought straight over. He lifted the cup to his face, the heat and the scent were both nice.

"Don't get cocky," John laughed. "It's only food."

"Don't try to break my spirit, John Watson," Sherlock said, chuckling. He looked around. "It's nice place, I think."

John nodded, looking around. "Yeah. You did good," he smiled. 

"I did, didn't I?" Sherlock said. "Of course, if you hadn't come up with the idea of the museum, I'd have never seen this place."

"Well, it was Sarah's idea," he admitted. "I didn't know they were having a special exhibit."

"Oh then, perhaps it should be Sarah I'm taking out then," Sherlock joked. 

John grinned. "You sort of did already -- to that damn circus. Of course, she almost died. In fact, I almost died."

"But you didn't die," Sherlock said. "That's the point. No one died." He looked up just as the server approached and set down their plates.

John swallowed roughly but said nothing. He tried his food and hummed. "This is really good."

"I told you you could trust me," Sherlock said as he took a bite of his own.

"I never said I didn't," John reminded him. 

"Well, you did say it before," Sherlock said, his voice trailing off as he remembered those first conversations when he'd returned. "Anyway, I'm glad you like it."

"That was different," John said quietly, not wanting to think about those talks. He went back to his meal and tried to think of something to change the subject. 

"So you'll be going back to work?" Sherlock asked. He wished he hadn't brought up those talks up and now he wanted to pretend he hadn't.

"Not today," John said. "They're not busy -- that's why we went to the museum."

"I know, but I mean regularly," Sherlock said. "You'll be going back regularly, like you did before?"

"Oh, yeah," John nodded. "Yeah, I will."

"But you'll still be around . . . for cases, I mean," Sherlock said. "You'll still be around when I need you?" he clarified.

"Yeah, just like before," John said. 

"Good," Sherlock said, nodding. "Good."

They finished their meal and headed home. "Another fire's called for, I think," Sherlock said as he pulled his coat tighter around him.

"I'll make the fire again and you make the tea," John said. 

When they got back, Sherlock put the kettle on before he even took off his coat. "I don't know why I'm so cold -- are you cold or is there something wrong with me?" he asked, finally slipping off his coat and then curling himself up on the sofa.

"Come sit in your chair so you can be closer to the fire," John said, sitting in his own chair.

Sherlock noted John's seating choice. He got up and poured the tea, setting John's down on the small table. Instead of sitting in his own chair, though, Sherlock got down on the floor and leaned up against John's chair, his shoulder and arm just inches from John's leg. "Thanks for making the fire," he said.

John shifted and pulled his legs up onto his chair, swallowing hard as he curled up on the seat. "Well, you made the tea."

"True," Sherlock said. "I suppose I was encouraging you to thank me for that." He glanced up towards John, giving him a little smile while at the same time, leaning a little closer so that John couldn't put his legs down without touching Sherlock.

John took a quick sip. "Thanks for the tea," he said, glancing down at Sherlock.

Sherlock took a sip of tea and gazed into the fire. His body slowly warmed up. Without turning his head, he broke the silence. "Are you comfortable sitting that way?"

"I'm okay for a little bit," John said.

"You're lying," Sherlock said softly. He took a sip of tea.

John stared at the fire. "I'm not," he murmured. "I'm not lying."

"You are," Sherlock said. He stretched his legs out and rested his mug on his thigh. "Do you want to tell me?"

John shifted. It was hard to avoid touching Sherlock where he was sitting. In a fit of panic, and not caring how odd out would look, he climbed over the arm of the chair. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"All right then," Sherlock sighed. He didn't move. He was pretty sure he knew John well enough to know that whatever was causing his problem was bouncing around his head and he probably hated it. All of a sudden Sherlock realised that whatever the issue was must be hurting John as much as it was hurting Sherlock. 

John stood over the sink, doing nothing, not even running the water. There was no way Sherlock didn't know something was up. He was outright asking now and what was John supposed to say? 

Sherlock stood up and went to the kitchen, standing behind John. He set his mug on the worktop and then place one hand on either side of John, cornering him. "We agreed to tell each other . . . that was one of the things you wanted . . . you made me promise and I did. Tell me, John."

John felt Sherlock and made to move, but then his arms were there. "Don't --" John's breath caught and he struggled to take in another one. He turned and gripped Sherlock's shirt, moving him back several steps before taking his hands away. "I can't . . . I can't touch you . . ." 

Sherlock stood still. "You can . . . I don't mind," he said. He wanted John to touch him. He wanted that closeness, the one that had helped him get through his time away.

"No," John said, his fist clenching at his side. "No because it reminds me . . . of the last time I did." He took a deep breath. "When I was feeling for a pulse and there wasn't one," he said softly. 

The words hit Sherlock and for a second he thought he might crumble. He pulled himself back and looked at John's face. He reached down and grabbed John's hand, turning it and pressing John's fingers against his wrist. "Feel," he said. "There's a pulse."

John almost squirmed away but he forced himself to let Sherlock move his hand. A small whimper escaped as he touched Sherlock's wrist, but he felt Sherlock's pulse beating steadily, too quickly, under his fingers. "I know," he said stupidly. "I know you're alive." 

"I need you to forgive me, John," Sherlock said. "In all ways . . . in this way."

"I do. I just can't . . . I keep seeing it in my head," John said, trying to tug his hand away.

"See what's in front of you, John," Sherlock said. "It's me, Sherlock. Your best friend." He let go of John's hand, turning it to hold it in his own.

John vice gripped his hand, lifting his eyes to look at him. "I know. Just . . .sometimes when you're sleeping, you look . . ." He shrugged and looked away. "And the touching -- it just forces it back."

"Then we need to replace that memory," Sherlock said. "You need the touching to make you think of something else." He stepped a little closer.

John stepped back, looking up at him. "Sherlock . . . I don't know . . ." His voice trailed off again.

Sherlock dropped his hand. "While I was away, I thought about us touching . . . I missed the closeness . . . it helped me get through," he said softly.

"I want to," John admitted. "I've wanted to . . ." he added softly. "But I need time."

"All right," Sherlock said. "I'm sorry." He reached out and put his hand near John's arm, but didn't touch it. He stepped away and then disappeared into his bedroom.

John covered his face and pressed his eyes hard. He knew he had hurt Sherlock, admitting what he did, but he didn't know how to explain that he really had forgiven Sherlock. This was his own thing to get over. 

Sherlock lay down on his bed. Now he understood, but it didn't make him feel better. It actually made him feel worse -- yet another way he'd hurt John. He didn't know how to make this one better. He rolled over and closed his eyes, trying not to think.

John put out the fire and cleaned up their mugs before heading up to bed. Now that Sherlock knew, he wouldn't try to force John and hopefully, slowly, John would work up to it. All this time he thought he could get along just avoiding it but wait, had Sherlock said he'd imagined John's touch while he was away? His cheeks warmed lightly. John had imagined it as well, a few times, never letting himself do it properly because he never thought he would see Sherlock again. And now . . . they both wanted this so John needed to get better. He went to bed determined to start trying in the morning.


	4. John Tries

When Sherlock woke up, he could see light coming in through the curtains so he knew it was morning. He was still in his clothes and when he rolled over and sat up, his body ached a little as if it hadn't prepared properly to sleep the whole night and was protesting. He pushed himself up off the bed and stretched. He grabbed fresh clothes and went directly to the bathroom for a hot shower. He wasn't sure what it was going to be like with John after last night's revelation, and he wasn't in a hurry to face it.

John looked up when he heard Sherlock move to the bathroom. He had been up for ages himself after a poor night of sleep, so he finally came down to the kitchen to start the day. He added water to the kettle and stood close to it while the water boiled. He wanted to pour Sherlock's tea, to hand it to him. He was going to touch him.

Sherlock came out of the bathroom and saw John. "Morning," he said, moving into the kitchen.

John looked over at him but away again quickly. "Morning," he said softly. He poured Sherlock's tea and put the mug near him. He took a breath. He reached out and took Sherlock's hands, wrapped them around his mug, and then paused for a moment before letting go. 

Sherlock stood still, memorising the moment. "Thank you," he said softly.

John nodded and moved back to make his own mug. He cleared his throat softly. "Did you sleep okay?" he asked. 

"I don't think so," Sherlock said. "I don't know." He took a sip of tea. "I don't feel precisely right, but maybe this tea will help."

John sipped his own tea. "I didn't sleep well either," he admitted. "I -- Sherlock, I'm sorry," he said. 

"For what?" Sherlock asked.

"This -- my touching thing. I didn't mean to hurt you," he said.

Sherlock took another drink. "You don't owe me an apology, John," he said. "I know I was the cause of it. We can just . . . whatever you need . . . I just didn't understand it and now I do, so whatever you need, all right?"

John nodded. "I'm going to make some breakfast. We can share, if you want."

"Yes, thanks," Sherlock said. He sat down at the table. "Do I need to help or can I just supervise from here?"

"Supervise. I don't fancy being poisoned," John teased. 

Sherlock smiled. He got up and turned the kettle back on. "There -- there's my contribution," he said. "So what are we doing today? I mean, do you have plans or what?"

"I thought we could stay in and I could work up to . . . you know." He flexed his hands and glanced at Sherlock.

"Up to what?" Sherlock asked.

John looked at his hands again. His cheeks warmed. "Touching you," he said softly. He glanced up to see Sherlock's reaction.

Sherlock tried to keep his face neutral, but he wasn't sure he was succeeding. "I see," he said. "And what should I be working on?"

"Anything. Just be . . . normal," John said. 

"Hmmm . . . that seems an impossible task," Sherlock said, with a hint of a grin. "I don't think I should aim so high." He took a sip of tea. "Um . . . will you just be springing these touches on me or will there be some kind of warning or what?" He was now smiling widely.

"I -- stop that," John said, waving his hand as if he could swat away Sherlock's grin. But he was fighting his own smile, looking away again. "I don't know."

"Well, I hope they're not all going to be as violent as that one," Sherlock said.

John brought the breakfast to the table and shook his head. "Eat now," he said. 

"Fine," Sherlock said. "Thanks," he added as he took a small bite of eggs.

John watched Sherlock's hand and forced himself to just relax and eat normally. The first time their hands brushed he felt his arm tense, but he refused to pull it away. The second time he realised Sherlock's hand was soft and warm. By the time they were finished eating, they were properly holding hands and it almost felt normal.

Sherlock let John take whatever tentative steps he needed, but he could not deny he had missed this kind of closeness -- before he'd left, he'd taken the casual touches for granted. He never would again. "So . . . your verdict?" he asked softly.

John glanced over. He wanted them to be normal. He was thinking so much about this that he had isolated the both of them. He didn't want that anymore. He was trying to move on and moving on slowly seemed to be the best way. He didn't reply, getting up to wash the plate. "Do you want to watch a film or something?"

Sherlock smiled. "That sounds like an excellent idea," he said. He stood up and carried the plates to the sink. "I'll wash these," he said. "But in a bit, all right?"

John stepped out of the way and nodded. "Okay. I'll find something for us to watch."

Sherlock ran some hot water over the dishes and then followed John into the other room, flopping down onto the sofa and then shifting himself in case John wanted to sit there as well. But then he moved again, because he didn't want John to feel any pressure. "Whatever you want to watch is fine," he said.

"Harry sent this to me but I haven't seen it yet," he said. "It's a documentary about the planet that's supposed to have really amazing footage." He started the movie and came to the sofa as well, sitting down.

"Excellent choice," Sherlock said. He realised he wished John had sat closer, but then he caught himself. Before he left, they hadn't snuggled up on the sofa, but that's kind of the thing he'd thought about while he was gone and it's kind of the thing he felt like doing now. He didn't move, though, except to turn his head toward the television.

John looked around the room before getting up to pull the curtains a bit. When he came back to sit down, he did so closer to Sherlock, closer than what would be appropriate for friends. He didn't look over, his body tense with nerves as he waited for Sherlock to possibly react.

Sherlock exhaled softly, trying not to reveal too much. "I'm comfortable with this," he almost whispered. "But it's important to me that you are as well."

John nodded. He slid his hand over and grazed Sherlock's, curving his fingers around to find his pulse. "I'm okay," he whispered.

"Good," Sherlock said softly. He let John hold his wrist for a few moments and then turned his hand to hold John's.

John's cheeks warmed again. He didn't know what he had expected from a day of touching, but he hadn't thought of this. He hadn't realised Sherlock would want to touch him too. 

Sherlock felt his body relax a little, and he concentrated on the television again. Yes, this was good. This was the kind of thing he'd thought of while he was away, and although it hadn't happened before he'd gone, he knew it was right now.

When the film ended, John bit his lip. "Should I put in the next one?" 

"I'd like that," Sherlock said.

John peeled his hand away and put in the second DVD. When he sat back down, his thigh was against Sherlock's. He hadn't meant to, actually, but now that it was happening he didn't move. When the film started he sought Sherlock's hand again. First his pulse, then laced their fingers.

Sherlock let his fingers brush against John's. "This is good," he said, his voice a whisper again.

"You're warm," he murmured. Not like that day. Rainy and cold, everything was cold. He didn't want to say so out loud. 

Sherlock thought for a moment -- he had so many things he wanted to say but didn't know how to make the words yet. He nodded and squeezed John's hand. John closed his eyes for a moment while Sherlock squeezed his hand. This was okay. He shouldn't have been scared of this.

Sherlock looked forward at the television. This was unusual, but unusual didn't always mean bad. He'd missed John, and John had missed him. There was nothing wrong in wanting to be closer after what had happened. Was there? It didn't feel wrong. Not at all.

When John opened his eyes again, he returned the pressure, squeezing Sherlock's hand. While starting at the telly, he let himself lean over to rest his head on Sherlock's shoulder.

That touch Sherlock liked even more. He did his best to turn off his thinking brain. He liked it and he wasn't going to care why. They stayed like that until the second programme ended as well. John watched the credits, not ready to get up just yet. 

Sherlock stared at the logo on the screen. "This is a different kind of touching," he said softly. "We didn't do this kind before . . ."

John sat up straight, only holding Sherlock's hand. "Sorry," he said quickly. Had he done too much? 

"I didn't say I wanted it to stop," Sherlock said. "I just said it was different." He looked over at John a little sheepishly. "It is, isn't it? I know I'm not very good at reading things like this, but it feels different . . ."

John nodded. "When you said you'd thought about it as well, were you thinking about this kind of touching, too?"

"Sometimes . . ." Sherlock said, glancing down at the floor then sofa arm then just staring out into the room. "I didn't think I should mention it . . ."

"I did," John admitted. "But not very much because I thought you . . ." He trailed off and moved his fingers to Sherlock's pulse again. He fixed his gaze there.

"Do you want it to stop?" 

John shook his head. He looked up and finally realised how close they really were. "No," he murmured.

"I don't either," Sherlock said softly. He lifted a hand and rested it lightly on John's cheek for a moment, before letting it fall back down to his lap.

John turned into his touch, leaning into his hand before he took it away. He had forgotten the other side of touching -- that it wasn't just him touching Sherlock. Sherlock would touch him too, and that was not attached to any traumas. He realised as nervous as he was to touch Sherlock, he craved Sherlock touching him. He took Sherlock's hand and lifted it to his face again. "Please…" 

Sherlock lifted his other hand as well, holding John's face as he looked closely into his eyes. "Should I . . ." he started.

John closed his eyes and focused on Sherlock's hands, warm, holding his head gently. When had John fallen so completely in love with him? While Sherlock was gone, John had been so alone, and now he craved Sherlock, wanting to be as close as he could possibly. He opened his eyes again and met Sherlock's. They were very animated now -- bright, dilated, eager. John nodded, leaning in closer.

Sherlock moved his head so that their lips met. The kiss was soft and tentative, but it was even better than the few times Sherlock had imagined it happening.

John closed his eyes again, pressing softly into the kiss. His whole body flushed, as if this was the final proof that Sherlock was back. He was alive.


	5. Different

Sherlock sat back a little. "That was nice," he said a bit stupidly. 

John nodded. He licked his lips and nodded again. He wanted to be closer. "Can we go lie down? Just lie down," he added, his cheeks warm again.

Sherlock exhaled. "Yes, let's," he said. He stood up and walked slowly to John's room. He felt John following him. He opened the door and said, "On the bed or in it?"

"In it," John said. "But . . . can I . . . I don't want to in my jeans. Do you mind?"

"I don't believe in clothes in the bed," Sherlock said, starting to take off his own clothes. "At least when it can be avoided." He slid off his trousers but kept on his boxers. He quickly got under the covers.

John stripped down to his briefs as well. He glanced at Sherlock's back and bit his lip. They were healing, the marks from his last mission, just pink lines now. He'd tried to keep them from John but couldn't when one bled through. A stab of guilt spiked through him -- he hadn't been able to take care of Sherlock then. He climbed into bed and scooted closer, curling into Sherlock so he head was resting near Sherlock's heart.

"I thought about this kind of touch many times," Sherlock confessed in a whisper. "It helped me to sleep. A little, at least." He moved his hand to rest on John's bare back.

"I'm glad it helped you," John said softly. 

"It did," Sherlock said. "You helped me even though you didn't know how much."

"I don't mean this to make you feel bad," John said. "But I couldn't linger on thoughts of you because I didn't think I'd see you again and it hurt. I had missed my chance to . . . to tell you things. . ."

Sherlock closed his eyes, staying still and silent for a few moments. "What things?" he asked softly.

John brought his hand up from between them to rest on Sherlock's side. The covers were warm, and Sherlock's skin was warmer. John counted ten heart beats before speaking. "I fell in love with you."

Sherlock concentrated on the feel of John's hand on him. "I let you down, John," he whispered. "You deserve better."

John shook his head. "You had to leave, you explained and I understand."

"Don't," Sherlock said. "Don't pretend it was that simple . . ."

John pressed his forehead into Sherlock. "It can be simple now. You . . . you just have to say it too," he said softly.

"Please," Sherlock said, pushing him back. He pressed up on his elbow and leaned over John. "Look at me -- I'm alive, John. I'm as full of faults as I was before I . . . was gone. My god, you must know how I love you, but we can't pretend that I won't be as bad at this as I was at friendship."

John reached up and touched his face, sliding into his hair and tugging him close. "Just don't leave again and everything else we can figure out together."

Sherlock looked over John's face and then squeezed his arm. "I will never…" he said slowly, “…leave you again."

John curled his fingers to hold his hair in a light fist. "That's settled, then." 

Sherlock read John's face and smiled. He said, "All right then," and lay back down next to John.

John's hand slid out of Sherlock's hair. He draped it over him and lay across Sherlock's chest again.

"You're everything to me, John," Sherlock said. "I need you to know that and I know you'll only know if I'm able to show you."

John nodded. Being so close with Sherlock now made him feel silly about before. He shifted and sat up, moving to straddle Sherlock's thighs. He smiled down at him, putting his hands on Sherlock's cheeks. "I'm sorry," he said softly. His hands moved slowly, tracing Sherlock's jaw and neck, his shoulders, over his chest and stomach, around his sides and back up again, tracing his arms to Sherlock's hands where he laced their fingers. "Show me now..." 

Sherlock pushed himself up a little to kiss John's mouth. He wrapped his arms around his body, pulling John down on top of him. He deepened the kiss, sliding one hand into John's hair to move around and grip the back of his head. John kissed back eagerly, his body already arching and rolling against Sherlock's. His hands kept exploring, moving up and down Sherlock's sides and hips as they kissed. Sherlock's body sank into the bed as it reacted to the movement of John's body. He kept kissing him, his fingers tangling John's hair as he held his head. John moaned softly, licking out to deepen the kiss. He was getting hard, rolling against him. Sherlock let his hands trail down John's body, gripping his hips as they moved against his own. His whole body was hot as he started to peel off John's pants. John shifted to make it easier for Sherlock before he took over and took them off properly. Before he climbed onto Sherlock again, he tugged Sherlock's away, looking up at his face and smiling.

"I want to touch you there," Sherlock said in a voice that was barely audible. He brought his hand around and just held John softly as he used his other hand to pull him down close enough to kiss again.

A soft sound escaped before John pressed his lips to Sherlock's, kissing him again. His own hand moved down, over Sherlock's stomach and navel and lower until he was holding Sherlock's cock as well.

"Slow," Sherlock mumbled as he tried to shift them slightly so they were lying side by side. He closed his eyes and took in all the sensations and then opened them again to look straight at John. "It's always been you," he said softly before kissing him.

John kissed back before shifting away to open his bedside table drawer. He took out the bottle of lube and a couple condoms, bringing them back and putting them by Sherlock before kissing him again. 

Sherlock kissed John hard before pushing himself up and crawling over top of John. He dribbled some lube into his hand and stroked John again. "You'll tell me . . . if there's anything you're not ready to do, right?" he asked softly as he shifted himself so he was between John's legs.

John nodded, panting softly. "I want to feel you," he murmured.

Sherlock kept stroking John with one hand as his other began to rub John's thigh. He squeezed the muscles slowly, moving down, and then moved up the other leg. Then he quickly spread more lube over his hand and began rubbing between John's legs as he went back to a slow stroke on his cock.

John shifted and moved into the touches, gazing at Sherlock. "I thought about this too," he said. 

"I can't begin to tell you about everything I thought of when I was gone," Sherlock mumbled. He grabbed at John's hand, pulling it down to John's cock. Then he pushed a fingertip inside John's body, slowly, watching John's face as he did, as his other hand began to stroke himself.

John closed his eyes when he felt Sherlock's finger. He wanted to feel everything. 

Sherlock started a slow rhythm, eventually slipping in a second finger to help open John. "You are home to me, John," he said softly. "I'm home now . . ." He leaned over and put a kiss on John's chest before he leaned back and rolled on a condom. "Ready?" he asked.

"Slow . . ."

Sherlock nodded. He stopped for a moment, considering what they were about to do and every single thing that had led them to this moment. He glanced up and said, "I love you," and then slowly pushed inside John.

John's mouth fell open, his words lost in a groan as he was stretched and filled. He gripped Sherlock's hips, panting softly. "Stay -- just for a second." This was what he was craving -- the ultimate closeness between them. Sherlock loved him, and he would never leave again. "I love you."

Sherlock leaned down, sliding his hands underneath John's body and holding him close. "God . . . it's good . . ." he moaned softly. He kissed John's mouth softly as his hips start to roll gently.

John kissed him over and over. "Move now," he mumbled, kissing along his jaw and neck. 

Sherlock lifted his head and smiled at John. "I'm already about to explode," he admitted before kissing him quickly and then propping himself up a bit. He started to slowly rock back and forth, pushing deeper.

John nodded, his own hard cock leaking against his belly. "Me too . . .it's so good . . .it's you," he moaned. 

Sherlock nodded down towards John's hand. "Make yourself come," he said, his hips speeding up a bit.

John stroked his cock quickly, his free hand looping up and around Sherlock's neck to hold his hair. "Close. . . I'm close." 

"I want to see you," Sherlock said breathily. "I want you to be looking at me when you come."

John whimpered and arched hard as he came between them. He called out for Sherlock, blinking his eyes open through his orgasm to look up at Sherlock. 

"Fuck," Sherlock exhaled as he felt John's body's reactions. He dropped his head slightly and pushed in a few more times before he too came. His body shuddered and tensed before he stilled and looked down at John. "You okay?” he whispered as he tried to catch his breath.

John nodded, tugging him down for a dozen soft kisses on his lips as John tried to catch his breath. 

Sherlock shifted and got rid of the condom. He dropped down next to John. "That was a lot of touching," he said, smiling softly as he looked over.

John bit his lip and looked over as well, smiling at Sherlock. "I don't ever want to not touch you again," he said. 

Sherlock turned on his side and looked into John's eyes. "When you came into my life, you gave it meaning . . . and while I was away, the thought of you kept me going," he said. "I will never leave you again, John. I will always be within reach."

John leaned in and kissed him softly. "I love you, Sherlock."

"I love you, too," Sherlock said. He dropped his head against the pillow. "You've exhausted me though." He yawned a little.

John nodded. "Let's sleep, okay?" 

Sherlock hummed his agreement. He closed his eyes and curled up behind John.

John scooted back as much as he could, holding Sherlock's hand in front of him as he dozed off. Then he pulled out his laptop and began writing what before he was unable to say.

 ** _30 Nov. 4:01am_**  
_I was away for a long time, as long as Sherlock was away. I’m sure you’ve all heard already -- I know it was in the papers and the news and now it’s here, the only place that really matters. I was asked to start a blog about my life, and at first, I had nothing to say -- nothing that wasn’t dark and painful to remember. But just like my real life, the blog came alive and wrapped around Sherlock. There was excitement, adrenaline, cases and chases, and Sherlock himself. I’ve been watching him in this flat for weeks now, both of us adjusting, trying to remember what it’s like to be together again. These are things that will not be in the news or the papers, but here. I woke up in his arms this morning (he looks very sweet when he’s sleeping), and his heart is beating strongly, and he is warm, and he is home. And now my life, and this blog, can finally begin again._


End file.
